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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Poems of 
School and Life 



BY 

CHARLES E. WHITE, 

Principal of Franklin School, 
Syracuse, N. Y. 






COPYRIGHT. 1916 

BY 

CHARLES E. WHITE. 



fjC 



M 30 1916 



JOHN SINGLE PAPER CO. 

PRINTERS 

SYRACUSE. N. Y. 

CI.A431705 



npO the thousands of youth whom he has 
striven to inspire, and to uplift, in the 
fifty years of his stewardship, and to those 
who so loyally and efficiently labored with 
him to the same end, this little book is 
lovingly inscribed by 

The Author. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



The Schoolmaster... 5 

The Strenuous Life 6 

Who Is My Friend? 9 

April 11 

My Hammer 13 

Visions of Childhood 15 

Forty Years Ago 19 

Your Diary 24 

Banquet of Sportsmen 25 

The Creation 31 

The School Nine 37 

The Teacher's Daily Schedule 43 

A Goose Tale 44 

A Tribute to Gibson 49 

A Tribute from Gibson 52 

Sunset 53 

The Men's Club 55 

Greetings to an Octogenarian 57 

An Allegory of Life 58 

The Schoolmaster's Reward 62 

Dire Punishment 65 

Class Song 66 

Reminiscences 67 

Reminiscences Six Years After 72 

School and Life 75 

Farewell, Billy Sunday 83 

Nuts to Crack 83 

Man's Inhumanity to Man 89 

An Ode to Winter 91 

The Weather in Alabama 96 

The Weather in Chautauqua 97 

The Golden Wedding 98 

Acknowledgment of a Gift 102 

The Pronoun, 1 103 

Dawn 104 

Christmas 105 

What Constitutes a Gentleman? 105 

Piscatorial Pedagogics 106 

Come Join Our Club 107 

Not Death, But Life 108 

On the Birth of a Boy 110 

School Closes at Three Ill 

Who Took the Scissors? 112 

Commencement 113 

The School Colors 116 

A Crying Need 118 

The Lost Glue 123 

Who Took the Glue? An Ode to Sue 124 

The Evolution of a Nimrod 129 

Battle Song of Peace 136 

Old School, Good Bye 138 

My Mother 139 

The Fishing Party 140 

Gibson's Response 142 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 

His Work: 

EMPLOYING all his arts 

For many years he strives 
To fashion purer hearts 
And model nobler lives. 

His Joy: 

Most happy when he knov^s 
His efforts richly crowned, 

Or that the seed he sows 
Falls not on barren ground. 

His Blessings: 

Wher'er their lots may fall 

His benedictions flow 
On thousands, big and small, 

Whose hearts his heart doth know. 

His Prayer: 

His one found hope of grace 
May future decades give : — 

In others' hearts a place 
In others' lives to live. 



6 Poems of 



THE STRENUOUS LIFE 
Dedicated to Theodore Roosevelt 

'^' O moment falls, but duty calls 

To valorous strife, 
Whose clash and din without, within. 
Cease not in life, 

A duty done is victory won 

'Gainst foes within ; 
True heroes need no higher meed 

Than thus to win. 

Who fears to fight gains naught by flight 

But craven fame ; 
Far better feel the hostile steel 

Than coward's shame. 

To shirk and cheat insure defeat 

At fearful cost; 
For courage fled, and honor dead, 

Then all is lost. 

Though foes are strong, and fierce and long 

Each deadly fray, 
They only fall who spurn the call. 

Or disobey. 



School and Life 



Though scarred and stained, each battle 
gained 

New ardor yields, 
And strength that leads to knightlier deeds 

On future fields. 

Who overthrows his inner foes 

In bootless rout, 
Hath sword and mail that never fail 

'Gainst foes without. 

Hath kingly might and Heaven's right 

To crush and slay 
The dragon breed whose coils impede 

His righteous way. 

Hath might to stand with lifted hand 

And summon Peace; 
To interpose 'twixt warring foes 

And bid them cease. 

No sordid greed nor wanton deed 

Beguiles his soul. 
No fear of blame, nor dream of fame 

Eclipse his goal; 



8 Poems of 



For duty bound, and battle-crowned 

His heart is steeled 
'Gainst siren song and monster wrong, 

And cannot yield. 

His stainless name, and peerless fame 

Attest his worth; 
His potent hand exalts the land 

That gave him birth. 

Her children feel a nobler zeal 

Within them burn. 
Her annals blaze the lustrous praise 

His virtues earn. 

With purpose high to win or die 

In dutys' cause. 
He fights for right with dauntless might 

And cannot pause. 



School and Life 



WHO IS MY FRIEND? 

TylTHO is my friend of those I greet, 
And oft in social converse meet? 
What secret cabalistic sign 
Admits to friendship's inner shrine? 
What subtle telepathic art 
Can peer into another's heart, 
And 'mongst its cloistered treasures rare, 
Discern true friendship lurking there? 

Like trees with foliage and root. 
But utterly devoid of fruit. 
Convention's seeming friendship warm 
Too often proves a barren form; 
The proffered hand and courteous bow, 
The winsome smile and lifted brow, 
May mark a prized and loyal friend, 
Or mask a base and crafty end. 

In every age of mortal man 
Since human fellowship began, 
The social germ, a thing innate, 
Has ever sought congenial mate ; 
And man's indeed supremely blest, 
Though all his life in social quest. 
If but a few he chance to win 
Whose souls to his are truly kin. 



10 Poems of 



Thy friend is thy rare counterpart, 

The alter ego of the heart, 

Whose soul with charm almost divine 

Excites responsiveness in thine. 

A friend, more worth than any gold, 

Is prototyped in Him of old. 

Who, e'en forsaken from above, 

Could yield his life, but not his love. 

No compensation can redeem 
The forfeit of a lost esteem. 
Hold fast thy friend, nay, love, revere, 
Whatever his plane, he is thy peer. 
Thine elder brother, and thy guide; 
And, when malignant foes deride. 
And worthless friends desert and flee, 
He'll turn the shaft that's aimed at thee. 

An absent friend, like missing star 
From some great constellation far. 
Is missed as oft as silver light 
Of rolling moon bedecks the night; 
Nor time, locality nor death transplace 
A constant soul, — the form and face 
Are but exponents of a heart. 
Whose essence never can depart. 



School and Life 11 



My friend is he, whose gladsome smile 
Can hide no base deceit nor guile; 
Companion mine, through changing years, 
Midst fragrant joys, midst falling tears. 
Who guards my name against assaults. 
And sticks to me despite my faults. 
No truer can the needle be 
To polar star, than he to me. 



APRIL 

r^ OLD winter's frosty hand 
Is lifting from the land. 
The mild and lengthening days, 
The warm and generous rays 
Of northward climbing sun, 
Tell April's just begun; 
And gently falling showers 
Wake up the sleeping flowers. 

On bending willow twig 
Grow downy catkins big, 
And yellow daffodils 
Defy the lingering chills. 
Denuded of its sheen. 
Preparing crown of green, 
The vernal woodland seethes. 
And spicy fragrance breathes. 



12 Poe?ns of 



We hear the vibrant notes 
Poured forth from feathered throats 
Of song birds, backward flown, 
From distant Southern zone. 
While anthems from the bogs 
Are swelled by piping frogs, 
And noisy barn-fowls fling 
Their greetings to the spring. 

Glad April days, we greet 
Thy sounds and perfumes sweet. 
They cheer our pent-up toil. 
As springtime blades, the soil ; 
They banish fancied woe, 
As radiant sun, the snow; 
They herald brighter hours. 
As swelling buds, the flowers. 



School and Life 13 



FROM THE HERALD 

Last Friday Principal Charles E. White 
sent to each of the teachers of Franklin 
school asking her to return his hammer if 
she had it. No hammer was forthcoming. 
On Monday morning Mr. White circulated 
the following 'Tlea of a Hammerless Man" 
among his teachers, and the hammer was 
promptly returned : 

MY HAMMER 
A/f Y hammer, my hammer, 
Pray, do bring it back. 
For no one among us 

Can nail up a crack 
Or mount a new picture 

Or pound in a tack 
Till this lost utensil 

Of handy man's pack 
Which all of you borrow, 

But now sorely lack 
Is once again added 

To my bric-a-brac. 

No hardware more needful 

In carpenter's rack; 
No humblest of households, 

No person with knack, 



14 Poems of 



No man of all trades 

Called, commonly, " Jack," 
But needs use a hammer 

In case of attack 
On lumber or burglar. 

On nail or on tack, 
x\nd ought to on people 

Who don't bring things back. 

My hammer! My hammer! 

Do, please, bring it back, 
And quiet this clamor, 

And clatter and clack. 
Get busy and find it. 

Get onto the track 
Of the person so heedless, 

So heartless and slack. 
With nerve monumental. 

Ingratitude black, 
Who borrowed my hammer 

And won't bring it back. 

Refrain : 

Bring back, bring back. 

Bring back my hammer to me, to me. 

Bring back, bring back, 

O, bring back my hammer to me. 



School and Life 15 



VISIONS OF CHILDHOOD 

Dedicated to the Alumni of Franklin School 
April 10, 1912 

r\ FT, the waves of retrospection 

In a swelling tidal-flow, 
Bring us visions of our childhood. 
In the Land of Long Ago. 

Always in the vision's foreground. 
Showing field, and woods, and dell, 

Stand the homestead old and sacred. 
And the school we love so well. 

Home, the paradise of childhood. 
And a world of joy and love. 

Home, by God and mother hallowed. 
Is akin to Heaven above. 

Long we gaze upon the picture, 
With its glorious vistas rare. 

Bent, as if to catch the voices. 
Of the dear ones gathered there. 



16 Poems of 



Now, the vision, ever changing. 

Is a group of children gay; 
With them, are ourselves and playmates, 

At the games we used to play. 

Then with clamor of the school-bell, 

In its shuttered belfry tall. 
Little knots of players hasten 

To obey the ringing call. 

Bright and pleasing motion-picture. 

Always constant, ever new, — 
On they troop, the chatting bevys, 
Till the last dissolve from view. 

Shining eyes and faces comely 
Greet the teacher at her door; 

Cheery smile and nod responsive 
Help to " Con the lessons o'er.'' 

See them all absorbed in study, 
Down each busy row and aisle, 

Teacher patient and resourceful. 
Giving kindly aid the while. 



School and Life 17 



Every room and former teacher, 
And each desk we occupied, 

See again, with loved companions. 
That are scattered far and wide. 

Now the march, the countermarching, 
And the mid-forenoon recess, 

Needed body-building practice. 
To offset the mental stress. 

Each recess, a maze of motion, 
And a rout of gleeful joys. 

Surging, ebbing, overfloAving, 
In a jubilee of noise. 

Mark the old contracted playgrounds, 
Fairly crowded to the doors , 

Used as now, for swarming hundreds, 
And not large enough for scores. 

See the awful day of judgment 
Coming tAvice in every year. 

When we writhe in fear and torment. 
Lest one dreaded word we hear. 



18 Poems of 



When the final word is spoken, 
And we know our fate at last, 

Mountains from our souls are lifted, 
If that crucial word is " Passed/' 

Rose-bedecked, mid throngs assembled, 

Stand a happy, sad, array. 
Gazing, as to loftier summits. 

On their graduation day. 

Such are childhood's shadow-pictures. 
Thrown by memory on the screen, 

Scenes that man will ever cherish. 
Though long decades lie between. 

Ah ! those scenes, forever ended, 

Only vision can restore ; 
Would that we might live them over. 
In the Happy Land of Yore. 



School and Life 19 



FORTY YEARS AGO 
To Edgar N. Wilson 

YOU'RE sixty today 
Old chum, so they say, 
Fd have sworn 'twas another, not you, 

But reckoning back 

In my almanac 
I am forced to admit that it's true. 

It seems that of late 

The annual rate 
Of the earth 'round the sun in the sky 

Is swifter than when 

We both were young men. 
And believed '* Tempus fugit '' a lie. 

How memory recalls 

Those classic old halls, 
Where we planned, forty summers ago, 

To each gain renown, 

Win wealth and a crown. 
And then banish from earth all its woe. 



20 Poems of 



Rare learning and art 

Those halls could impart, 
But our percepts oft lacked of the truth, — 

Our limited view 

Unwittingly due 
To the twist in the vision of youth. 

Yet while we look back 

On youth and its lack, 
And its follies and foibles deplore, 

We'd cancel all claim 

To wealth and to fame. 
Just to drink of its fountains once more. 

As splendors unfold 

In crimson and gold, 
When the halo of morning appears. 

So glory imbues 

Our youth with its hues, 
When beheld through the lenses of years. 

ril never forget 

The tables we set. 
The menus that we used to prepare, — 

Mush cutlets frappe. 

Served three times a day 
Was the bill of our usual fare. 



School and Life 21 



The room-stunts between 

The chef de cuisene 
And the scullion were portioned ahead; 

A turn at the book, — 

Then scullion or cook, — 
So our minds and our bodies were fed. 

Since then weVe been dined. 

And feted and wined, 
And though used to the best of the grill, 

We're ready to vote 

Our old table de hote 
With elixir of youth on the bill. 

You recollect when 

An old speckled hen, — 
She was just getting ready to set, — 

Went far, far away 

One tragical day, — 
Say, they're guessing about that hen yet. 

Remember the raid 

On our serenade. 
When the horse-fiddle bunch split the dawn, 

And how the next day 

The deuce was to pay, 
'Cause the Profs held some watches in pawn? 



22 Poems of 



One tragedy more 

Was brought to our door, 
When our poor little Allie was drowned. 

O ! void that was left, 

O ! circle bereft, 
O ! the voices of that silent mound ! 

Remember the week 

Of hide and go seek, 
When the blackboard was all painted green. 

And I was the goat, 

Till somebody wrote. 
And again my fair record was clean? 

'Twas up in the grove. 

Where eloquence strove, 
Like the furies of Bedlam in rage, — 

At least, one would say. 

It sounded that way, 
When the prize speakers broke from their 
cage. 

A picture, I find 

Still clear in my mind. 
Is a sail in distress on the bay. 

One clings to the wreck, 

One, merged to the neck. 
Sees the other drift drily away. 



School and Life 23 



'Tis here our ways part. 

But each with stout heart, 
Struggled on toward a goal steep and high. 

You topped the high steeps, 

With bounds and with leaps, — 
Far beneath on a ledge tarry I. 

My greetings to you, 

Old comrade and true. 
As your sixtieth mile circles by. 

Long keep you the knack 

Of hammering back, 
And the old snappy glint of the eye. 

You'll need them to fend 

The jostling trend 
Of the oncoming resolute horde. 

Who fight as we fought, 

Disheartened by naught, 
Up the mountains we both have explored. 



24 Poems of 



YOUR DIARY 

npOMORROW will not know Today, 

Unless, before its flight, 
We all its happenings survey, 

And fix in '' black and white.'' 
Nor will Tomorrow truly come, 

Nor ever did, nor can. 
Unless Today's accomplished sum 

Include Tomorrow's plan. 

So, therefore, it Avere well to keep 

A day-book of events, 
In which Posterity may peep 

For valued evidence, — 
A book of deeds, details, and dates, 

Recorded as they run. 
With duties that one contemplates, 

And those, alas, undone, — 

A chronicle of hopes and dreams. 

In which the heart lies bare. 
With sentiments on endless themes 

Unveiled most freely there. 
So, when life's shadows longer creep, 

And days go flying fast. 
From out this book you'll richly reap 

A harvest from the past. 

X'mas, 1914. 



School and Life 25 



BANQUET OF SPORTSMEN 

A Novel Entertainment Tendered by Prof. 
John D. Wilson to His Friends 

A banquet, which was unique in many 
ways, was held recently at the home of 
Principal John D. Wilson. Each summer 
and fall for some years the same little 
crowd of ardent sportsmen has visited the 
fastnesses of the North Woods in search of 
game and fish. They have shared one 
another's cabins and tramped many a mile 
over the trails together. To these men and 
to several of his fellow teachers the banquet 
was given. The men appeared in the same 
old hunting togs that they have worn on 
so many expeditions and around which 
cluster many pleasant memories. The even- 
ing was spent in recounting stories, and each 
vouches for their truthfulness. 

Charles E. White acted the part of 
toastmaster and in introducing several of 
the speakers of the evening used the fol- 
lowing verses, each bearing some allusion 
to a former event: 



26 Poems of 



TpHERE was a piscatorial son of a gun, 

Who'd start on the run, 
At first peep of sun, 
And, while he enjoyed his favorite fun, 
Would always remember some Archaic pun 
To spring on the boys, when his fishing was 

done. 
But no other fisherman ever begun 
To equal the catch of this son of a gun, 
Nor the piscatorial yarns that he spun. 

Response, J. O. Adams. 

A tale of the huntsman, bold and true, 

Of his skill and prowess and might, 
Who eight and twenty wild animals slew. 

In a single tempestuous night. 
This story's related by one who was there : 

Believe him without any check, 
For he never imbibes, I've heard him de- 
clare, 

'Cause it always goes to his neck. 
Response, B. M. Watson. 

In Bartholomew's hole, 

A big trout snatched his bait 
And gave it a terrible yank ; 

Over his shoulder he threw his old rod. 



School and Life 27 



Across the green pasture he clawed up the 
sod 
With a sixteen-inch trout in his wake. 

A}^ ! the North Woods, whose pure skies 

Were never stained with city smoke, 
The fragrant air that through them flies 

Is breathed from balsam, spruce and oak. 
Ay ! the log camp nestling there 

Close guarded by its forest screens. 
Oh ! the camper's hungry blare, 

'' Hey there, Clements, pass the beans ! '' 

Response, Clements Blodgett. 

There are no pleasures H^lf so sweet, 
As when good jolly fellows meet. 

Who long have struggled side by side 
In life's insistent surging tide. 

Who know each other through and through, 
And trust and love each other too. 

Response, W. H. Scott. 

Through the same forest trails weVe 
tramped. 
By the same crystal spring we've camped, 



28 Poems of 



Beneath the same bark shack weVe crept, 
On the same balsam mattress slept. 

WeVe learned each other's joys to share. 
Each other's woes weVe helped to bear. 

Response, G. A. Dakin. 

On Lige's lake, 

A boat we take. 
And paddle out 

To fish for trout. 

At length we stop, 

The anchor drop, 
And vainly try 

The beauties shy 
To fascinate 

With tempting bait, 
Which they despise, 

To our surprise. 

I in the stern. 

He takes his turn 
To row the boat 

To spot remote, 
With likelihood. 

The fishing's good. 
Reels in his line. 



School and Life 29 



I also mine. 
With shoulders square. 

And muscles bare, 
His giant stroke 

The waves provoke, 
And waters boil. 

At each recoil. 

He talks of trees, 

The sky, the breeze, 

Grips hard the ash 
For brilliant dash. 

And, for that lake. 
Will records break. 

With might and main, 
With tug and strain, 

To win the race 
His muscles brace. 

React, expand, 

With vigor grand. 

Though hard the work, 
He's not a shirk. 

And not the stuff 
To cry enough. 



30 Poems of 



The term defeat 

Is obsolete, — 
Unknown in strife 

Of strenuous life. 

He bends his back 

For fresh attack, 
And smites the wave 

With valor brave, 
Till timbers creak. 

And row-locks shriek, 
And tremors steal 

Along the keel. 

His voice is hushed. 
His face is flushed, 

His garments wet 

With steaming sweat, 

Which trickling rolls 
From crown to soles. 

Alas, 'tis vain. 

His powers wane, 
He's reached the length 

Of human strength. 
He bowed his head 

At last, and said, 
" By Gosh ! old pard , 

This boat rows hard." 



School and Life 31 



His pard looked aft 
Behind the craft, 

Beheld a trail 

Like comet's tail, 

Of liquid mud 

Lashed to a flood. 

He gently said, 
As on they sped, 

" You Gol Darn Clown, 
The anchor's down ! '' 

Response by A. Burr Blodgett. 



THE CREATION 

E^RE creation's dawn was summoned 

From a long chaotic night, 
By majestic voice of thunder, 

That proclaimed, '' Let there be light,' 

Ere creation was begun. 

Where were sea, and earth, and sun? 

Where those glistening orbs of light. 

That illuminate the night? 

Where, th' organic life that woke, 

When the great Creator spoke? 



32 Poems of 



Whence those countless atom units 
Of all types and shapes diverse, 

Whose assembling formed the matter 
Of this wondrous universe? 

What preceded nature's birth, — 
With no firmament, no earth? — 
Naught but empty nothingness, — 
Black, abysm^al, matterless, — 
Naught but shoreless, yawning space, — 
Mere duration, without place. 

What mysterious alembic 
Could distil the atmosphere. 

And the clouds that cap the mountains, 
And the rain-drops, cool and clear? 

Whence the rainbow which renews 
Kingly pledges in its hues? 
What receptacle could keep 
All the waters of the deep? 
What gigantic master-mold 
Could the continents enfold? 

In all countries, climes, and ages. 
Since the human race began, 

Questions thus have been propounded, 
By investigating man. 



School and Life 33 



Ever peering o'er the rim 
Of the distant and the dim, 
He has failed to comprehend 
'*No beginning, and no end" ; 
Failed, life's origin to learn, 
Cosmic sources to discern. 

But man's bold, persistent striving 

The impossible to probe. 
Has revealed a thousand secrets 

Of this great revolving globe, — 

Of its motions and its form, 
Of its lightning and its storm. 
Where the floods of ocean stray. 
Why the needle points the way. 
How the moon and sun decide 
The progressions of the tide. 

He can measure distant planets. 
Tell their orbits and their years, 

And compute their due conjunctions 
With the other starry spheres ; — 

Know their rings and satellites. 
Their respective days and nights,— 
Their dimensions and their weight. 
And the laws that regulate 
The mysterious 'tractive force 
Which controls their whirling course. 



34 Poems of 



He has learned the concrete structure 
Of our planet's curving crust; 

That its undulating surface, 
Naked once of soil or dust, 

Was a heated rocky shell, 

On Avhich mortal could not dwell, — 

Wrapped in clouds of vaporous gas, 

And enveloping a mass 

Of archaian plastic rock. 

Quaking with volcanic shock. 

From the cooling and contraction, 
That in sequence did ensue, 

Little folded, granite wrinkles 
Into mountain ranges grew ; 

And the earth-crust's thickening clasp, 
Holding them in Titan grasp , 
As the shrinking earth grew cold, 
Reared aloft those systems bold, 
Whose serrated, vast extent 
Frame-works every continent. 

'Gainst those continental masses, 

Surging in seismic tide. 
Thundered vast tumultuous oceans, 

From their basins deep and wide. 



School and Life 35 



And the fury of the shocks 
Ground to dust the coastal rocks; 
And the rivers from the land 
Brought eroded silt and sand ; 
And this mass near beaten shore 
Settled on the ocean floor. 

Settled, sank, through unknown ages, 
Neath the ocean — settling still, — 

Constantly the powdered rock-waste, 
From the shore, the plain, the hill. 

Horizontal layers, ranged. 
Back to rock again were changed, 
With sea-creatures in their shells, 
Prisoned in their fossil cells. 
Thus was formed a stony page 
Of the ancient manless age. 

By convulsive throes of nature, 

Lands were plunged beneath the waves, 
And long submerged areas lifted 

From their oceanic graves. 

Many hills with lofty heads. 
Cradled once in ocean beds. 
Many times submerged have been, 
Many times thrust out again. 
And the period of each stage 
May have been a countless age. 



36 Poems of 



We may know how life developed 
Through the ages following on 

From the minute protozoa 
To the giant mastodon. 

We may trace the glacier's path 
And the ice-berg's aftermath; 
We may find in rocks and caves 
Mute inhabitants of the waves ; 
And on ancient seashores trace 
Foot-prints of an unknown race. 

We may read antique inscriptions 

Of the animal and plant, 
Of great eras and transitions, 

Long preserved in adamant; 

But we halt in mute amazement. 
And with bowed, uncovered head, 

Contemplate the awful vastness 
Of the pages still unread, — 

And with reverence con these lessons 
Of life's brief and feeble span, 

The immensity of creation 
And the littleness of man. 



School and Life 37 



THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL NINE 

\X/'ITH try-outs completed, 
The players all picked 
By the Juvenile Judges 

Whom none contradict; 
With ball-suits, from stockings 

To cap, all complete. 
Giving boys an appearance 

More slouchy than neat; 

With mits and protectors 

Selected with care, 
The identical outfit 

The big-leaguers wear; 
The Nine take the diamond, 

An eye to first place, 
And a fine resolution 

Writ large in each face. 

Big letters emblazoned. 

Across every breast, 
Spell the school they will fight for 

Against all the rest; 
In clean competition 

Will ever contend 
For their own Alma Mater, 

Her fame to extend. 



38 Poems of 



The season has opened, 

Two nines are at play, 
And the pitcher shoots teasers. 

That fade, fade away, — 
So skillfully mixing 

The high ones and wide. 
That he tallies three strikeouts, 

Retiring the side. 

The Outs take their inning, — 

The batter in place 
Hammers out a neat single. 

And reaches first base. 
He tries to steal second. 

Midst clamor and shout, 
But a well-fielded double 

Puts both runners out. 

Next batter can't solve them. 

And wildly strikes three; — 
Naught and naught the first inning, 

All scorers agree. 
And so, till the last one, 

The battle is fought. 
Not a run made by either,- — 

The score naught and naught. 



School and Life 39 



But now something happens, 

A shriek of delight, 
As the ball is sent soaring 

Way out over right. 
He fumbles ! He drops it ! 

Deep groans are now heard, 
And before it is fielded 

The runner's on third. 

Some bunts are attempted, 

And squeeze-plays begun, 
For the In's are determined 

To bring home that run. 
One snubs to first-baseman, — 

A scoop-up and tag, — 
'* Runner's out,'' but the other 

Remains on third bag. 

The next rolls a grounder 

Down close to third base, — 

'* Safe at first," but the other 
Is held in his place. 

Last runner steals second, — 

'Tis really no sin, — 

But the catcher ignores it, 

'' That run might come in." 



40 Poems of 



Up steps a game hitter, 

Pure grit in his eye, 
And he hits a sky-scraping, 

Magnificent fly. 
A hush that is painful, — 

All eyes on the ball, — 
'Tis a heart-breaking moment,— 

Where, where, will it fall? 

Like Mercury poising. 

One arm flung above. 
So the leaping left-fielder 

Lifts skyward his glove. 
The ball descends swiftly, — 

A curving white band 
Like the sweep of a rocket, 

Right into his hand. 

Such volleys of cheering. 

No pen can portray. 
Every friend and opponent 

Applauding the play. 
But look ! The fleet sprinters ! 

A foot-race with fate ! 
One for third, and the other 

Attempting the plate. 



School and Life 41 



A throw to third baseman 

That run may prevent, 
But with force and precision 

The ball must be sent. 
Already 'tis whizzing 

Like arrow from bow, — 
Like a demon the speedy 

Young sprinter must go. 

"Now catch it, third baseman !'' 

'' Swing downward and back. 
But the sprinter dives under 

And touches the sack ; — 
That instant the other 

Slides home with a shout, — 
Then a catch by the pitcher, 

And three men are out. 

Last half of last inning, — 

Three down, and no run, — 
The struggle is over, — 

The score naught and one. 
Clean play and good-fighting. 

Have marked a great game, 
And the boys have won pleasure. 

True manhood, and fame. 



42 Poems of 



All strive for the winning, 

With main and with might, 
Each scoring a triumph. 

If clean in his fight. 
More gain fighting fairly, 

And not giving up. 
Winning backbone and courage, 

Than winning the cup. 

To be fairly beaten 

Is not a disgrace. 
It serves but to quicken 

A rapider pace. 
To gain by foul playing 

May capture the game, 
But the winning brings only 

Dishonor and shame. 

Baseball helps the vision. 

The judgment, the will; 
It gives the boys courage, 

Precision, and skill. 
Each game is a fitting 

For actual life. 
Its strain, and its struggle, 

Its conflict, and strife. 



School and Life 43 



THE TEACHER'S DAILY SCHEDULE 

T^O charm the throbbing life of eager 
buoyant youth, 
And guide the fitful steps along the paths 
of truth ; 

To stir the restless heart with promptings 
sweet, and pure, 
That keep the soul unsoiled from Evil's 
deadly lure; 

To point the wistful eye to countless wond- 
ers rare 
In earth, in sea, in sky, in nature every- 
where ; 

To waken keener joys in striving to attain, 
That quickens dormant life in body, heart, 
and brain; 

To fan the kindling zeal, and spur the hot 
desire 
That mounts to highest steeps, on wings 
that never tire ; 

To tame the lawless will, to check the way- 
ward thought. 
With patience, wisdom, love ; — 'Twas 
thus the Master taught. 



44 Poems of 



A GOOSE TALE 

A STUPID old goose 
Once started a school 
For all the spring goslings about. 
The goslings, let loose 
From motherly rule, 
In flufifiest frocks. 
Came trooping in flocks, 
With hurry and scurry and rout. 

The biggest were dark. 

The tiniest light, 
And yellow or brown were they all; 

But never a mark 

By which you could quite 

With safety declare 

What colors they'd wear 
When fashions would change in the fall. 

With leggings of tan, 

And gaiters the same, 
Their real union suits were complete, 

And when they all ran 

In some gosling game, 

'Twas funny to see 

How wobbly they'd be 
In handling their legs and their feet 



School and Life 45 



So each little blonde. 

Brimful of delight, 
Would hasten to school every day, 

And splash in the pond 

Till time to recite; 

Then promptly at nine 

Would waddle in line 
Way down a long hall to Room A. 

And what could they do? 
Learn lessons and grow — 

That's always the way with the young. 
Learn languages, too. 
Or how could they know 
The Mother Goose rhymes 
They sang times and times 

In seemingly some foreign tongue? 

How could they recite 

Those melodies old. 
Unless they could spell, read and sing? 

Of course they could write 

With flourishes bold, — 

Was not the quill pen, 

So useful to men. 
First plucked from a gray goose's wing ? 



46 Poems of 



Learn history? Yes. — 

Goose annals portray, 
Their glory in war and in peace, 

All peoples confess, 

A proud city one day. 

Her foes lurking near, 

With arrow and spear, 
Was saved by the cackling of geese. 

Though told to be good, 

They often were bad 
From nine until quarter to four. 

TheyVi eat all the food 

There was to be had, 

Then guzzle for bugs. 

And tadpoles and slugs. 
And still they would gabble for more. 



The goose teacher tried 
To mend their bad ways 

And plied them with useful goose lore; 
She'd tickle their pride, 
She'd threaten and praise, 
She'd flap her great wings 
To scare the poor things. 

Till goose pimples covered them o'er. 



School and Life 47 



'' Your heads are too small, 

Your crops too immense/' 
She'd rail in dis-par-age-ment strong. 

" YouVe no wit at all 

And not enough sense 

Sufficient to get 

In out of the wet, 
Where good little goslings belong. 

They'd shrink when she'd storm, 

Look sweet when she smiled. 
Cut up if she just turned her back. 
At recess they'd swarm, 

As if they were wild. 

Across the mud pond 

And way off beyond. 
Returning all draggled and black. 

" I'll close up this school," 

She finally said; 
" You goslings will give me no peace. 

I've been a great fool. 

Or out of my head. 

To work as I've wrought. 

To teach as I've taught. 
Such brainless, unteachable geese.'*^ 



48 Poems of 



'' I know well enough," 

She said in great heat, 
'' You never will learn any more. 

You just want to stuff, 

And guzzle and eat, 

And draggle your clothes. 

And muddy your toes, 
And traipse away off to explore. 

'* Next Christmas you'll be 

Quite heavy and fat, 
And fitted for lovely goose pies. 

Your parents will see 

Hereafter to that. 

Yd feather your wings 

For loftier things — 
But now you must say j^our good-byes. 

They coaxed and they plead — 

The teacher stood firm, 
In spite of their tears and their cries. 

They curtsied and fled. 

And finished the term 

At home with their mas 

And doting papas. 
And lastly, in Christmas goose pies. 



School and Life 49 



'Tis shown by this tale 
That gosUngs are queer — 

That teachers, who do not obey 
Dame Nature, will fail, 
However sincere ; 
And pupils that shirk 
Their proper school work 

Will rue it at some future day. 



A TRIBUTE TO GIBSON 

A MAN with a square and a resolute tread, 

As he happens along on the street, 
Whose countenance beams with the tinc- 
tures of red, 
As he siezes your hand, when you meet, 
Who shows you his heart in a straight-for- 
ward glance 
With a good-natured twink of the eye. 
Who adds to your joy by a friendly ad- 
vance. 
Your regret by a friendly good bye : — 
That's Gibson. 



50 Poems of 



You see by the masterful poise of his head, 

He's a man that is sure of his ground, 
And centered as true as a plummet of lead, 

For he's sane and up-standing and sound. 
You find him a man of rich personal worth. 

With a soul and a character clean. 
You label him one of the salt of the earth, 

Neither crooked, nor little, nor mean. 
That's Gibson. 

His virtues are many, his weaknesses few, 

Such a feeble, diminutive part. 
They're lost in the manifold qualities true. 

That abound in his generous heart. 
His friends, they are legion, deservedly 
won, 
And his absence they deeply deplore. 
They give him in chorous a hearty " Well 
done," 
With a long and a hearty encore. 
That's Gibson. 

After two years : 
A knight of the road, with his grip-sack and 
kit. 
Very calm and nonchalant of air. 



School and Life 51 



Awinning his way by his pluck and his wit, 

And the charm of a smile debonair. 
A book-fight he'll scent across valleys and 
hills, 
And he'll hie to the scene of the fray, 
Unlimber that smile, and project a few- 
thrills, 
Make a killing at once, and away. 
That's Gibson. 



These lines partially embody my find- 
ings, after an intimate, and a very delightful 
acquaintance, covering a period of eight 
years, during which time we never came to 
blows. 

Syracuse, N. Y., Jan. 28, 1912. 



52 Poems of 



A TRIBUTE FROM GIBSON 

The following undeserved tribute was 
dedicated to the author on the occasion of 
the twenty-fifth anniversary of his principal- 
ship of Franklin School, by his friend, Mr. 
Charles S. Gibson. 

HE high borne torch which lights a soul 
To shine among the sons of men 
Too soon expires, but flame will roll, 
And, lightning others, live again. 

E'en as the lights shine out afar 
To guide the wandering vessel's path, 
The teacher marks each rock and bar 
Which every youthful voyage hath. 

The restless waves about us fret. 
And angry storms of trouble roar; 
But we love one who never yet 
Has put a false light on the shore. 

Good Father Time has spared this one. 
That near and far and young and old, 
May set a silver crown upon 
The brow above a heart of gold. 



School and Life 53 



Kind leader, friend, and playmate too, 

Of all of us assembled here, 

We but return the tribute due 

To man, and work, and life sincere. 

Accept our simple praises then ; 
Your work thus far is all well done ; 
And, having served your fellow men. 
Your crown is nobly, — nobly won. 



Syracuse, April 10, 1912. 



SUNSET 



Read at a meeting of teachers in memory 
of Superintendent A. B. Blodgett. 

npHE sun is set, 

And Nature droops beneath the pall of 
night, 
And all is dark, and cold, and still, 
Save in the dimly glowing west, 
Where lingering glories seem to rest 
A space, and then to pale, and fade, 
And vanish in nocturnal shade. 
Till naught of cheer is left to mortal view. 



54 Poems of 



Soon stealing through the gloom of night, 
There beams a mild, insistent light, 
Up, past huge bulks of mountain bars, 
Up, even to the distant stars. 
Which, one by one, in twinkling beauty, 

wake 
In blaze and sheen. 
Until the vast and vaulted screen 
Is all agleam from light of sun, 
EVn though the sun is set. 

So, each benignly glimmering ray, 
That shines adown the dreary way, 
'Twixt star-lit sky and shadowed earth. 
Is but a smile of benediction. 
Beaming from the absent sun. 

For though 'tis set, 

Those twinkling guardians of the night 

In million-pointed mirrored light 

Flash penciled tidings of good cheer. 

That night shall wane and disappear, 

And then shall dawn the promised glories 

Of another day. 



School and Life 55 



THE MEN'S CLUB 

Dedicated to the Men's Club of Chautau.- 
qua, N. Y. 

HP HEY'RE men of good parts, 
Good habits, and hearts. 
Men that struggle, achieve, and attain. 

And they hail from all sections. 

And points, and directions. 
From the Mexican border to Maine. 

Men weary of mind, 

Unnerved by the grind 
Of the counting room, mill or the press. 

Tired judges, and teachers. 

Attorneys and preachers. 
Who have fled from the fag and the stress. 

They rest and they smoke. 

Write letters and joke, 
And discuss the late telegraph news ; 

Nothing's done in the nation. 

Or all of creation. 
But arouses their varying views. 

A shift in the scheme, 
May alter the theme 
To the pulpit, the platform, the play ; 
And 'tis safe to conjecture. 



56 Poems of 



Play, sermon or lecture 
Is reviewed in a fair-minded way. 

They gallantly stand, 

And give the glad hand, 
When the ladies, God bless 'em, are there. 

With their manifold graces. 

To witness the races, 
Or the flying man, soaring in air. 

Play games? bless you, yes, 

Both checkers and chess, 
With a challenge forever unfurled ; 

But though giants contending, 

With great issues pending. 
They're the quietest sports in the world. 

There's golf and there's roque, 

For those with the stroke. 
There is tennis of cup-winning class ; 
There are ball games and bowling, 

And muscalonge trolling 
And engagements with big yellow bass. 

Their friendships grow strong 

As time speeds along, 
And they're wiser, and happier too ; 

They'll return to their stations, 

With new aspirations. 
And the vigor to carry them through. 

August 29, 1913. 



School and Life 57 



GREETINGS TO AN OCTOGENARIAN 

Dedicated to Mr. F. F. Adams, Erie, Pa., 
on the eighty-second anniversary of his 
birth, August 6, 1912, by Chas. E. White, 
assistant secretary Men's Club, Chautauqua, 
N. Y. 

/^REETINGS from Chautauqua's shore 

In a hundred streams outpour 
On our friend with heart so young, 
And so rare a grace of tongue, — 
Greetings, comrade, tried and true. 
As you reach four score and two. 

Like some tall and sturdy oak. 
Scarred by storm and lightning stroke. 
You've withstood, while others failed. 
Every fury that assailed, 
By the might of self control. 
And the fiber of your soul. 

Your good, quaint, uncommon sense, 
And your lack of all pretense, — 
Kindly spirit, void of guile. 
And the sunshine of your smile, — 
These, and other goodly parts 
Have enthroned you in our hearts. 



58 Poems of 



Circled now by friends and kin, 
Gladsome greetings pouring in, 
Love, unfeigned, which you surprise 
Beaming out from friendly eyes. 
Are, in part, but well-earned meeds 
Of your life of golden deeds. 

May your years continue long 
In the atmosphere of song, 
]\Iay the current of your days 
Flow in green and peaceful ways. 
And the channel of your hopes 
Find the warm and pleasant slopes. 



AN ALLEGORY OF LIFE 
Written on the occasion of the Golden 
Wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Val- 
entine Schilly, 1904. 

npWO glistening raindrops fell one day. 

From the clouds that were sweeping by ; 
One dropped in the west, and one away, 
Neath a darkening eastern sky. 

Each one gave a kiss of greeting glad 
To the earth which was parched and sere, 

That tinted the flowerets pale and sad 
With flushes of hope and cheer. 



School and Life 59 



And myriad other raindrops too 
Hurried down in pattering scuds, 

Till trickling tiny streamlets grew, 
And became little rioting floods, 

Now leaping a terraced mountain side. 

Over many a stony crest. 
Now creeping down through meadows wide. 

As if haply each brooklet guessed 

It carried a precious drop of joy. 

Singled out for a happy fate. 
Attended by nymphs and elfins coy, 

And a sailing to meet its mate. 

And blithely murmered the streams adown 
The devious riverward slopes. 

Through western plain, through eastern 
town. 
With their burdens of joys and hopes. 

One happy day, where rivulets meet. 

And a turbulent river form. 
Two currents frought with tribute sweet 

Are immersed in its billows warm. 



60 Poems of 



And here, the drop from the distant west, 
And the one from the east away 

Are wedded upon the river's breast, 
Midst a sea-maidens' roundelay. 

United, they dance their way along 

In ripples of rapturous glee, 
xAnd catch the lilt of the river's song, 

As it wafts them on toward the sea. 

They wander lovingly side by side 
In the storm or the sunset glow, 

And, cradled upon the throbbing tide. 
Feel the lull of its ceaseless flow. 

They circle the pebbly wave-washed shore. 
Intoning their rippling thanks. 

And whispering love tales o'er and o'er, 
In the shadows of reedy banks. 

Through eons of time they swiftly glide. 
Over thousands of blissful miles, 

And ever do faith and love abide 

In the charm of their limpid smiles. 



School and Life 61 



The broadening river's fuller brim, 
And the slackening force of its flow, 

The distant horizon's hazy rim , 
And the salty breezes that blow, 

All tell of a golden jubilee, 

Where the waters of every clime 

Again shall join with the swelling sea, 
In a symphony grand, sublime. 

Our lovers now may tranquilly rest. 
In the joys they have journeyed to gain, 

Enfolded on the billowy breast 
Of the vast and fathomless main. 

And gently out on the ebbing tide. 
They wHU peacefully sail away. 

While nymphean wavelets safely guide 
Where the outgoing currents stray. 

And far from the beetling, hereward shore, 
When their golden voyage is done, 

On vapory wings they'll calmly soar. 
And be merged in the golden sun. 



62 Poems of 



Thus peacefully glide their waning days, 
And in joy may they still abide. 

Caressed by the sunset's lingering rays, 
As they sail away on the tide. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER^S REWARD 
Written in memory of H. Frank Miner 

"D ACK through twenty changing summers, 

turn we now with hearts bowed low. 
On a light which though extinguished, 

sheds a radiant afterglow, 
Quickening our saddened visions, with its 

mellow, hallowed rays, 
Calling back through deep perspective, 

images of other days. 

See again at manhood's portal, one with 

clear and kindly eye, 
Undertake his chosen mission, moved by 

inspiration high. 
See his first unaided struggles, as up 

ragged steeps he fights ; 
And again as time advances, mounting 

still to loftier heights. 



School and Life 63 



See him rise amongst his fellows, stand 

the peer of any one, 
Able, learn-ed, wise, progressive, honored, 

for achievements done. 
Hear again his voice in council, speaking 

down the misty years 
Helpful words of ripest precept, welcomed 

oft' by waiting ears. 

Now the well beloved brother, ever 

courteous, manly, true, — 
Now the self-poised, tactful teacher 

molding minds and hearts anew. 
How he wakes the erring spirit, to 

a willing sense of right. 
As he flashes gems of wisdom, in the 

luring gleams of light. 

Rousing motives, high, self-active, 

and new joys, that victors feel, 
Fanning feebler flames of effort, till 

their gleams the joys reveal. 
See in all his tireless toiling, how 

both love and duty blend. 
In the justice of the master, and the 

kindness of the friend. 



64 Poems of 



In his high yet humble calling, long 

and earnestly he strives, 
Not to win applause or riches, but to 

quicken others' lives ; 
Not to tread the path of glory, in 

which men achieve renown, 
But to help lift up the ladder, by 

which others reach the crown. 

He has touched the lives of thousands, 

with a manhood strong and pure. 
That shall waken high endeavor, long 

as ages shall endure ; 
This, more worth than bronze and granite, 

living monument shall be 
To his life of deeds and duty, 

unto all eternity. 



April 8, 1905. 



School and Life 65 



DIRE PUNISHMENT 

/^N Friday P. M. we're going to see 
How many of un-reproved pupils 
there'll be, 
And these may go early, to frolic and 
play, 
The others, meanwhile, will just have to 
stay. 

And those who get foolish and won't do 
their work. 
But just want to dawdle, or play, or to 
shirk, 
They also will tarry, for much needed 
rest. 
While the others go early, for doing their 
best 

Monday, Dec. 6, 1909. • 



66 Poems of 



CLASS SONG 

"D EGRETFULLY, sadly, we linger to-day 

Reviewing our rosiest years, 
Illumined and haloed in gladsome array, 

Through lenses of glistening tears. 
With giants weVe battled, within and 
without, 
And fortune has honored our shields. 
But ever, though compassed by duty about, 
We have roamed through Elysian fields. 

O ! Halcyon days, thy enchantments are 
o'er. 
Our dear Alma Mater, farewell. 
With hand clasping hand, and with hearts 
that are sore. 
Our own sad good-byes we must tell. 
Each, now and alone, toward the future 
must face. 
And challenge its smiles and its meed, 
Upborne by the zeal, and the courage, and 
grace, 
That ever to victory lead. 



School and Life 67 

REMINISCENCES 

Read at a meeting of the Syracuse School- 
masters' Club, held in honor of William A. 
Scott and Bruce M. Watson, on their retire- 
ment from service in the Syracuse schools, 
June, 1908. 

TPWO decades bridge the lapse of years, 

Alas, too quickly gone, 
Since first in cordial fellowship, 

Our very souls were drawn. 
A goodly few, a single aim, 

And wont full oft to meet. 
Our faith grew strong, our friendship 
staunch. 
Our brotherhood complete. 

Each in his own especial field. 

Found duty fraught with care, 
And tense with unabating strain. 

He conquered dragons there. 
He essayed human problems vast, 

That puzzle every age. 
And dared to challenge doctrines old 

Of sophist and of sage. 



68 Poems of 



On many a pleasant outing jaunt 

We'd cast our cares away, 
And recreate in shameful glee, 

Like schoolbays out at play. 
We'd often play the game of " Scrub,' 

Or even " Two old Cat," 
And then again hold tournaments 

Of ten-pins and all that 

In wordy contests, each would seek 

To turn the other's point, 
And find with keen polemic sword 

His weakest armor joint. 
No quarter ever given or asked. 

The victor claimed the crown, 
Perhaps to yield another day, 

And find himself cast down. 

But when around the banquet board. 

The air was charged with wit, 
That scintillated round our heads. 

And scorched and stung and bit; 
For banter met with repartee, 

In quick and ready flash, 
And none could 'scape the badinage. 

And none the whistling lash. 



School and Life 69 



We, side by side, 'gainst giants fought, 

And cheered each sturdy blow, 
That struck aside a hostile blade. 

Or laid a foeman low. 
We rallied to each others' aid 

In single conflict pressed. 
But n^ver, save in friendly bout. 

Assailed a friendly breast. 

But one sad day, the summons came, 

As come to all it must. 
And Ansel Kinne, pure of heart, 

Was numbered with the just; 
Well learned and kind, companion rare, 

As jovial as grave. 
From richest stores of heart and mind 

He ever freely gave. 

Next EdAvard Smith, toil-worn and spent, 

By years of earnest strife. 
Laid down his cares and sought the peace, 

Well-earned, of quiet life. 
A veteran of fifty years. 

The Nestor of us all. 
May peace and quiet still be his 

Until he hear his call. 



70 Poems of 



Once more death comes into our midst, 

With dread, imperious hand, 
And now Bruce White, long well beloved, 

Receives the stern command. 
No one with more of manly grace 

Achieved the end he sought. 
Nor won more laurels to his brow. 

For highest service wrought. 

At last the soldier pedagogue 

Obtains his heart's desire, 
A mind care-free, a western ranch. 

Why shouldn't he retire? 
Scott risked his life in the Civil War, 

To guard our country's shrine. 
And still in peace is always found 

Upon the firing line. 

Accept this tribute, comrade true. 

As from your dearest foes. 
Who've fraternized and fought with you. 

And felt your iron blows. 
We'll think of you whene'er we see 

Old Glory in the sky. 
We love it more, because of you. 

Farewell, old friend, good bye. 



School and Life 71 



*' Give us a leader/' comes the call, 

From the mountains far away, 
And Watson steps out from the ranks, 

And hastens to obey. 
Distinction, honor, and renown, 

To be selected thus ; 
Our hearts, though sore, expand with pride. 

That he is one of us. 

The scholar, author, genius rare. 

With clear judicial brain. 
Has mounted high above our heads. 

And reached the topmost plane. 
God speed you, brother, in your field 

Of higher, broader scope. 
And give you friends, and give you joy, 

On the Rockies' western slope. 

We'll miss the old, but still extend 

Our friendship to the new. 
Kind fortune, haply, send us men 

As broad, as kind, as true. 
Stand closer, Adams, Barrett, now 

In new formation stand. 
Stand closer, Lewis ,till you feel 

The touch of a brother's hand. 



72 Poems of 



Stand closer, yours may be the hand 

To ward some dire defeat. 
Now more than ever be the bond 

Of fellowship complete. 
Stand closer, Blodgett, Wilson, Wickes, 

United firm and fast, 
That we may feel the old time thrill 

Of contact to the last. 



REMINISCENCES 

Six Years After 

TPHE years have taken heavy toll 

Since that eventful day, 
When Scott and Watson said good-bye 

And each went on his way. 
Bruce Watson's star shines o'er him yet, 

But brighter, higher still. 
Success and merited renown 

Have proved his wonted skill. 

Poor Scott, away but one short year. 

Came back and sank to rest. 
We bore him sadly to his grave, 

The flag upon his breast. 



School and Life 73 



Now Edward Smith, four score and ten, 

Falls peacefully asleep — 
Again we bear the silent form, 

And generations weep. 

Burr Blodgett, loved and honored chief, 

His heart so big and kind, 
His life with ours so many years 

So closely intertwined, 
Alas, now lays his burdens down 

At his Creator's will. 
His great warm heart, his smiling eyes, 

His lips forever still. 

A teeming city long had felt 

The guidance of his hand ; 
His voice was heard in council mongst 

The ablest of the land ; 
And thousands now revere his name 

Along our busy marts, 
His type of righteous manliness 

Imprinted on their hearts. 

John Wilson, prince of manly men, 

Our mentor and our friend. 
At work today, tomorrow gone, 

So swift, so sad the end. 



74 Poe?ns of 



He delved in Nature's treasure vaults, 

Found inert life in stone, 
And wrested secrets from the rocks 

No man had ever known. 

We miss the lore from Nature's book, 

He culled but to dispense ; 
We miss his pungent epigrams, 

His quaint uncommon sense ; 
We miss the tramps through wood and field, 

The city far behind. 
The joy of his companionship, 

The uplift of his mind. 

Once more the archer wings his shaft. 

And Ouincy Adams falls. 
His spirit loved the highland woods, 

Unvexed by city walls ; 
And oft in exaltation there, 

His lyric soul would Avake 
And breathe out those immortal rhymes 

Of crag, and burn, and lake. 

With him we've trailed the forest lakes, 
We've leaped the mountain streams, 

And reveled in untrammeled joys 
Beyond the poet's dreams. 



School and Life 75 

Those legend heroes touched his life 

And nerved his telling blows, 
But never knight had knightlier heart, 

Nor chieftian fewer foes. 

We are but four, old Guard. Close ranks, 

As ever firm and near. 
That we may feel the friendly touch, 

While yet we linger here. 
Goodbye dear old departed friends. 

We miss you oft and sore, 
But fairer now is Paradise 

Than ever 'twas before. 



SCHOOL AND LIFE 

CERIOUS, rosy-cheeked, tidy, and trim. 

Troop on the little folks, sturdy of limb, 
Eager, expectant, and chattering throng, 
Proudly, exultingly, trudging along. 

Foot-steps and heart throbs in unison beat 
Rhythmic responses, as cadences sweet 
Peal from a bell, whose musical call 
Brings a first welcome to school for them all. 



76 Poems of 



Roseate morning, most anxiously sought, 
Teeming with hope, and with destiny 

fraught, 
Penciled with every beautiful hue, 
Promiseful, thrilling, resplendent and new. 

Brightest of all days, the first day of school. 
Pleasant the lesson, not irksome the rule. 
Laurels to win, other worlds to explore. 
Quicken new energies, dormant before. 

Tactfulness, wisdom and fostering care, 
Lovingly lighten the burdens they bear, 
Prompt them to willingly strive with tlieir 

might, 
Sweeten their strivings with joy and 

delight. 

Potent the charm, that doth sweetly compel 
Joy and delight by its magical spell. 
Making the school an enchanting retreat. 
Under the sway of a power so sweet. 

Study and play the days routine comprise, 
Each has a lack which the other supplies ; — 
Study is sweeter with pleasure alloyed. 
Even the play is more keenly enjoyed. 



School and Life 77 



Music commingling with study and play 
Adds a new charm to the joy of each day ;— 
'Triend of the pleasures, of Wisdom the 

aid," 
Music, an ally of virtue is made. 

Friendships undying, and precious, and 

strong, 
Gladden the years as they hasten along. 
Life will bring friends that will flatter and 

please, 
None more enduring, more hallowed than 

these. 

Gladly the round of the school work is done. 
Term after term proud promotions are 

won : — 
Half-hearted trying which hampers the 

soul. 
Yields to the joy of self-prompted control. 

Pleasures of self-willing effort incite 
Higher ambition, more venturesome flight 
Into the regions of learning and truth. 
Buoyed by the vigorous tonic of youth. 

Difficult duties but feed the desire 
Others to master; in turn these inspire 



78 Poems of 



Lofty endeavors, more masterful quest, 
Waged with new vigor, and keenness of 
zest. 

Happy those busy and fast-flying years, 
Brimming with joys, intermingled wnth 

fears. 
Soon m.ust the scene of the struggle and 

strife 
Change to the field of the battle of life. 

Fruitful the years that have hastened away, 
Since that eventful and promiseful day — 
Day that the little folks heeded so well 
When they first answered the welcoming 
bell. 

Little no longer, more tall and more wise, 
Resolute, purposeful light in their eyes, 
Proudly, regretfully, hand clasping hand. 
Facing the beckoning future, they stand. 

Day of commencement is ushered at last, 
Dawn of a future, on-reaching and vast. 
Day, not of triumph for victories won, 
But a preparing for greater, begun. 

Ended forever, those joy laden years. 
Loving good-byes are said sadly with tears. 



School and Life 79 



Sundered and scattered, with separate aim, 
Each for himself seeking fortune or fame. 

Some with the pinions of eagles uprise, 
Sighting their goal in the high vaulted skies. 
Others like gems of the ocean serene, 
Choose to sequester their talents unseen. 

Laboring on in scholastic pursuit. 
Some win degrees and most hotly dispute 
Honors, 'gainst men of the highest renown, 
Winning preferment, and seizing the 
crown. 

Some choose the law and are classed with 

the great. 
Standing for justice with wisdom and 

weight ; 
Some, the sweet power of healing possess, 
Living, to succor, to save, and to bless. 

Some from the pulpit, God's mercies 

proclaim, 
Teaching right-living and love in his name, 
Loudly rebuking the sin that is rife. 
Showing the way, the truth and the life. 

Knowing relations of thought to the ink. 
Some, through the press compel thousands 
to think. 



80 Poems of 



Thus with the school and the pulpit they 

vie, 
Lifting the torch of enlightenment high. 

Back to the school some, with quickening 

pace. 
Fully-fledged teachers their footsteps 

retrace — 
Take up their duties most vital and vast. 
Giving the future the lore of the past. 

Some, their young lives to their country 

devote, 
Shielding her honor afield and afloat. 
Come, Avhen contentions in victory cease. 
Back to more glorious triumphs of peace. 

Triumphs o'er wrong, in fierce battles for 

right — 
Self to be conquered by self in the fight, 
Harder than black-visaged war is the 

strife. 
Longer the siege, ending only with life. 

Counter, and desk, and the shop, and the 

trade. 
Tempting inducements to many have 

made ; 



School and Life 81 



Faithful and honest, they steadily earn 
Trust and promotion, in ready return. 

Some, seeking fortune with rapider pace, 
Start for themselves in the mercantile race. 
Some who possess the dramatical gift 
Seek through this talent mankind to uplift. 

Cupid, not idle, loves ever to sit, 
Viewing the Gordian knots that are knit, 
Guiding the weave of the separate strands, 
Making them firmer than strong iron bands. 

Many a union has thus been arranged, 
Many conditions of freedom exchanged, 
All for that bondage, no other above — 
Hallowed, delectable bondage of love. 

Now, in the schoolroom are found here and 

there 
Promising urchins, with bright sunny hair, 
Who, when their sweet childish glances 

bestow, 
Seem to look back from the sweet Long 

Ago, 



82 Poems of 



Through the fond eyes of their parents 

before, 
Whom, with affection we cherished of yore, 
Forms, how familiar, yet lesser in size, 
Faces, a little less grave and less wise. 

Let us remember those loved ones and true, 
Hid by the portals of sunset from view. 
Haply their spirits are hovering near, 
Drawn by the magnet impelling us here. 

Frankly our gratitude strives to confess 
Station, advancement, and growing success, 
Largely are due to the patience and care 
Lavished by teachers, in excellence rare, 

Freely on thousands, indifferent then, 
Thousands, now saying with voice and with 

pen. 
Honor, and love and rich blessing in 

showers 
Unto the souls that are mingled with ours. 



School and Life 83 



FAREWELL, BILLY SUNDAY. 

\X/" E'RE heartbroken, Billy Sunday, 

That we may not see you more. 
You have brightened up our city. 

As it's never been before ; 
You have stirred the deeps of darkness 

Wiht a might that knows no fear, 
And youVe lit ten thousand corners 

With the good old gospel cheer. 

As the magnet sways the needle. 

So youVe swayed our people's hearts ; 
And their lips and lives proclaim it 

Boldly in our city marts. 
And in tens, and scores, and hundreds. 

Others flock to hear the Word, 
With such potency expounded 

As their ears have never heard. 

Some that come for entertainment, 

And the curious sense to please, 
With the luke-warm and backslidden 

Now are found upon their knees. 
And the scoffer's jests are silenced , 

And the critic's findings fail ; 
Both have seen you while in action, . . 

And are now upon the trail. 



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So, through days and weeks together, 

Spite of rain, or snow, or sleet. 
Multitudes, without abatement. 

Congregate with eager feet; 
Sit with waiting souls, and hungry. 

While you voice the message high, 
How to flee the wrath eternal, 

How to live and never die. 

Thus, the message boldy uttered. 

Day by day, and night by night. 
Has brought thousands to repentance — 

Out of darkness into light. 
Not from impulse, but conviction, 

Come the young, mid-aged and gray, 
As your heaven-prompted preaching 

Has revealed the narrow way . 



They may censure your dramatics. 

Your expressive slang decry, 
Your theology they question. 

Your biology deny; 
Still we love you, though the knockers 

Try to punch you full of holes — 
Wouldn't change you one iota — 

You have helped to save our souls. 



School and Life 85 

You have kept the devil busy, 

Patching up his battered camps, 
And, a hundred times youVe soaked him, 

Square betv^^een his blooming lamps. 
We are with you, Billy Sunday, 

We're good devil-fighters, too. 
And we want to see a knock-out. 

And we'll help to put it through. 

Syracuse, December 21, 1915. 



NUTS TO CRACK. 

A SURFACE long, and broad and high, 
Adorned with painting grand. 
It may be Roosevelt, you or I — 
What nut for this will stand? 

An American once 
Did so many tough stunts. 
That they sent him John Bull to defeat- 
A gallant success — 
A president, U. S. — 
And they called him a nut that we eat. 



86 Poems of 



Naiads at play, — 
Nymphs decollettes, — 
Elysium — summer girls — graces. 
Not enough clothes, 
Absence of woes, — 
What nut is the same as this place is? 

Some vegetables grow in the ground, 
Some others on bushes are found, 

And still others on long slender vines. 
Of the latter we can all we can can. 
And we eat all the rest that we can't 
can, — 

Now^ pray tell me what nut this defines. 

Goat, Billy, 

Stupid, silly. 
Not happy unless he can butt. 

Chiefiest sin, 

"Buttin in''— 
They call him the name of a nut. 

Some eyes are dove-like and mild. 
Some tiger-like glaring and wild — 

But eyes that I mean 

Are oftenest seen, 



School and Life 87 



When the light 

Is just right, 
So you catch the particular hue 
Of a nut that's familiar to you. 

Foolish darkey, hoeing cawn, 
Sees a black snake sure's' you'r bawn. 
Cuts the head off with his hoe, — 
'Twa'nt a snake, but his big toe. 
Now guess the nut, its name is hid, 
Dont hit the mark the darkey did. 

The Japanese maidens petite 

Are cute little brownies and neat. 
And they're witty and pretty and w4se. — 

Some nuts grow on trees 

That remind one of these, 
For the shape is the same as their eyes. 

Sweet hope and its pleasures. 

And dearest of treasures 
All stored in the locker of fate. — 

In collecting the trousseau, — 

(All young ladies do so, — 
Or most of them do soon or late,) 



88 Poems of 



And crimson with blushes, 

By flits and by rushes, 
Invoke all enchantments that be 

In goblins and bats. 

And Hallow'een cats, 
And then give to Cupid the key. 

(In instances two, 

They say it is true 
That Cupid is kept pretty busy; 

But he's not to be blamed. 

If he hasn't been tamed 
By some of the others, now is he?) 



Out of all of this mess 
What nut is your guess? 



School and Life 89 



MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN 

XT AN puts upon man 
A merciless ban, 

As he reaches the years of old age. 
The world blocks his path 
Curtails what he hath, 

And begrudges his place and his wage. 

The boy sits a throne. 

The world will condone 
All his deeds autocratic and bold, 

Acknowledge his sway. 

And fealty pay, 
For the promise the future may hold. 

A young man we laud, 

With charity broad. 
Not forgetting our own callow days. 

We bolster his need. 

We give him God-speed , 
And our precepts to counsel his ways. 

But man in his prime, 

Though truly sublime, 
And deserving all honor and trust. 

Is ever a mark 

For calumny dark, 
And the hostile and cowardly thrust. 



90 Poems of 



Thus hampered he fights, 

Up desperate heights, 
For his wealth, or position or fame ; 

The same he must hold, 

'Gainst devils grown bold. 
As the harrows of time mark his frame. 

"Put ^Sixty' away," 

Some scientists say, 
'*And all painlessly we will assist;" 

And ''vSixty" must fight. 

With over-tasked might. 
For the God-given right to exist. 

Unconquered to-day , 

To-morrow at bay. 
And at last to the dust overborne. — 

So wolves overpower. 

And rend, and devour. 
With no pity, their wounded and worn. 

When, crushed in the strife. 

He yields up his life. 
Then the world's golden praises are said; 

His memory, sweet. 

His manhood, complete. — 
Ah ! the old, we most cherish, are dead. 



School and Life 91 



Begun by Prof. J. D. Wilson, Continued by 
Prof. C. E. White. 

Last week Principal Charles E. White of 
Franklin School received from Prof. John D. 
Wilson of Putnam School a letter on the 
weather in the form of a poem entitled "An 
Ode to Winter/' to which Principal White 
responded in kind. 

Both of these gentelmen know all about 
boys and their relations to winter, and each 
poem is exceedingly characteristic of the 
writer. — The Herald. 

AN ODE TO WINTER. 

J) EAR Professor White : 

What is it the Syracuse boy has to do? 
He must live like an Esk'mo without an 

igloo. 
He must ransack the cupboard to find a 

warm meal. 
Where there's not e'en the sight or the smell 

of a seal. 
He must eat pork and beans, and get fat as 

a lubber 
To keep but the cold, without whale oil or 

blubber. 



92 Poems of 



He must crawl through deep snow on all 

fours ilke a frog, 
Without a swift whalebone sled, drawn by 

a dog. 
He must face piercing winds which do him 

great harm. 
Without a bear coat to keep himself warm. 
Old earth has turned over the zones have 
changed places. 
And jumbled the tribes and the peoples and 

races. 
With our bilzzards and sleet, the snow and 

the cold. 
We surely have Klondyke here, all but the 

gold. 



J. D. WILSON. 



TV/f Y Dear Professor Wilson : 

Not mentioning chaps, and pink-eye 

and grip, 
Frost-bitten ears and a crack in his lip, 
Chilblains, and gum-boils and snuffling nose 
And coughing the buttons all off from his 

clothes. 



School and Life 93 



The hills and the ponds are under the snow, 
So, out of commission his sled and skates 

go; 
No chances for fun except when he digs 
A ring in the snow for the playing of migs. 

But Jack Frost insists on spoiling his fun, 
Because of the errands no other can run — 
After the tinkers of various stripes, 
To clean the old furnace, or thaw out the 
pipes. 

He runs till he's lame from top-knot to sole. 
And then cleans the sidewalk and shovels 

the coal. 
Such is the lot of the average boy, 
His hopes buried under, and frozen his joy. 

He's troubled in mind his body is sick. 
Himself he is ready to yield to Old Nick ; 
For nothing on earth robs Hell of its woe, 
Like a long zero winter with four feet of 
snow. 

CHARLES E. WHITE. 



94 Poems of 



TO PROFESSORS WHITE AND 
WILSON 

A BOUT this grim winter, Fm sure you 

are wrong; 
You've misjudged the boy in your *' winter- 
some*' song. 
'Tis true, in each month, there's been six 

weeks or more, 
But that made the room for the fun out of 

door. 
Bob rides have been plenty and ice w^as 

yards thick. 
That hurried the boy with his skates on a 

stick ; 
No danger of drowning — a blizzard is fun, 
'Gainst the wind he is traveling, on a dead 

run; 
The frost-bitten ear, with the skin peeling 

off, 
To the boy is more fun, than the playing 

of golf. 

Don't say ''We're in Klondyke without any 

gold," 
The coal man, he has it, this story is old. 



School and Life 95 



No pleasure like handing to him our hard 

chink, 
This winter is nothing but fun, we all think. 
The boy gets away and his sire cleans the 

walks, 
Whose chilblains and grip are the subject 

of talks ; 
This winter was nothing but sport for the 

boy, 
Thermometers dont' indicate frozen up joy. 

AN ONEIDA PRINCIPAL. 

Oneida, February 9th. 



96 Poems of 



THE WEATHER IN ALABAM. 

Supreme Court of Alabama, 
Consultation Room, 
Montgomery. 

July 28, 1913. 
To the Men's Club, 
Chautauqua, N. Y. 

Gentlemen : 

T'M way down in Alabam' 

Where it's hot as "U-be-dam ;'' 

Here fish will fry without the pan ; 

Man pants and fans to keep cool if he 
can. 

Give my regards to all my club friends, 
and accept an abundance for your own cour- 
teous and obliging self. 

Yours truly, 
(Signed) J. J. MAYFIELD. 



School and Life 97 



Reply to Judge Mayfield's poem. 

THE WEATHER IN CHAUTAUQUA. 

IIJ ERE the summer's never torrid, 
Seldom cold nor often horrid, — 

Frying fish in blazing sun 

At Chautauqua can't be done. 

Here the breezes ever play 

With the wavelets in the bay, 

And with soft and cool caress, 
Waft away our weariness. 

On Chautauqua's shady banks 

We devoutly ofifer thanks. 
That we're not in ''Alabam" 

Where 'tis hot as ''U-be-dam." 

In these classic groves we rest, 
In communion with the blest. 

While delights that never wane, 

Stir the heart, the soul, the brain. 

We affirm wnth proper grace, 

'Tis a most enchanting place, — 

Charms the young, the men, the ladies, — 
Farthest spot on earth from Hades. 



98 Poems of 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

I> LESSINGS on you, goodly twain, 
As you reach the golden plain. 

You have lived your lives as one, 
Sweet and fruitful lives, begun 

When you, five decades ago 

Pledged your faith for weal or woe. 

Bright and blissful wedding day 
In life's balmy, budding May ! 

Love's sweet song the sweeter grows. 
All the world its joy bestows, 

E'en the breathing flow'rs employ 

Bloom and fragrance to your joy. 

Ah ! for love's sweet roundelay ! 

All too soon June follows May. 
Life's not all a honeymoon. 

Love has more than single tune ; 
Lessons new and lessons stern 

You must now begin to learn. 

Love, the lesson learned the best 
Renders easy all the rest; — 

Each the other's griefs to share. 
Each the other's burdens bear; 

Learn in harmony to live. 

Learn to trust and to forgive. 



School and Life 99 



Learn to rest your faith in God, 

Though you feel His chastening rod. 

Learn affection to extend 

To your neighbor and your friend ; 

That your love and kindness earn 
Love and kindness in return. 

In a fierce but fond crusade 

Children now your home invade, 

And, with love's resistless spell. 
Seize its very citadel, 

And with strong but walling hands 

Bind you, heart, and brain, and hands. 

Added duties now befall. 

Added happiness, withal. 
For the darlings you outpour 

Love from never-ending store ; 
While for them it freely flows. 

For each other, stronger grows. 

Ah ! those happy fleeting years, 
Crowded full of love and tears, 

Full of toil and sacrifice. 
Yet, an earthly paradise. 

All the round of human bliss 

Has no sweeter charm than this. 



100 Poems of 



As from parent nest astray, 

New-fledged birdlings Hy away, 

So, from out the ancestral home, 
One by one the dear ones roam ; 

xA.nd your benedictions flow 

Richly on them as they go. 

Lighter though the present cares. 

Doubly-burdened are your prayers. 

Though the ocean intervene 
Space impassable between. 

Though their fame be fair or ill, 

Boundless love enfolds them still. 

Happy years have sped along. 

Love now sings a newer song. 
Sings a mellow cheery tune, 

Gladdening life's afternoon. 
'Tis your children's children's share 

In your all-embracing care. , 

Great-grand children now arrive. 
And the little elves contrive 

By the most delightful arts, 

Covertly to steal your hearts ; 

And, while these you love and bless. 
Love the others none the less. 



School and Life 101 



Circled now by friends and kin, 

Gladsome greetings pouring in, 

Love unfeigned, that you surprise 
Shining out from glistening eyes, 

Are in part but well-earned meads 
Of your years of golden deeds. 

Love's environemnt began 

All that's excellent in man; 
Love, presiding on the throne, 

Love to God and man made known, 
Has to you in richness lent 

Peace, and honor, and content. 

May your years continue long 

In an atmosphere of song; 
May the current of your days 

Flow in green and peaceful ways, 
And the channel of your hopes 

Find the warm and pleasant slopes. 

March 16, 1903. 

In March, 1903, I had the pleasure of writ- 
ing the foregoing poem on the event of Mr. 
and Mrs. Robert M. Beecher's golden wed- 
ding. I was invited to the festivities, and 



102 Poems of 



recited the poem there. A few days later, 
I received a magnificent rubber tree, with 
the compliments of the bride and groom, 
and the following is my letter acknowledg- 
ing the gift. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A GIFT. 

T\ EAR MR. BEECHER,— Your plant has 

arrived, 
And since I received it, I've truly derived 
A great deal of joy in its beauty and thrift, 
But more, in the love which prompted the 
gift. 

Sincerest of thanks, my very dear friend. 
For this rubber tree, I hereby extend. 
With greatest of care V\\ nurture its roots, 
And raise bye and bye, my own rubber 
boots. 

But, joking aside, this thrifty young tree 
An emblem shall stand betwixt you and me,' 
Agrowing betwen us, as time speeds along. 
Of fellowship true, abiding and strong. 
With best wishes to you both, 
I remain, etc. 



School and Life 103 



THE PRONOUN I. 

TXT' HEN thought from mind to mind is 
borne, 

The speaker is the mirror, 
Reflecting messages of truth 

Unto the waiting hearer. 

But he that seeks to laud himself, 

Needs optical correction. 
A mirror cannot be at once 

Reflector and reflection. 

Good usage holds the pronoun I 

As modest and seclusive, 
And him that quotes it much and oft, 

As bumptious and obtrusive. 

A speaker fighting for a cause, 

With shackles to unfetter. 
Hath need to note the usage well , 

That he may fight the better. 

He needs enough of self respect 

To feed a pure ambition. 
But no inflated-ego trait 

Should handicap his mission. 



104 Poems of 



So, if reform be all his aim, 

A genuine obsession, 
He must eliminate his Ts 

By prayerful self-repression. 

Not only vaunting Cicero's, 

But all that prink in story. 

Should add this doctrine to their creed, 
Let others give the glory. 



October 26, 1913, 



DAWN. 

"Vr O night is so dark, but its shadowy 
shroud 
Will finally fade into gray. 
Then vanish in brightness that gilds every 
cloud. 
And chases the shadows away. 

The world sat in darkness in centuries old, 
Till flooded with Bethlehem's light. 

That light all-pervading with glory untold, 
Dispels all the demons of night. 



School and Life lOJ 



CHRISTMAS. 

TpHE heart glows with peace and good 
will, 

In the warmth of the Christmas cheer, 
May its spirit abide with us still, 

All the days of the calendar year. 



WHAT CONSTITUTES A 
GENTLEMAN ? 

^^T' ITH passion's evil claims subdued, 

And self reduced to servitude ; 
With kindness to a habit grown, 
And honor reigning on the throne, 
Subjecting heart, and brain, and hand; 
With pluck to do, and dare, and stand, 
These, as no scutcheoned title can, 
Will ever mark the gentleman. . 



106 Poems of 



PISCATORIAL PEDAGOGIES. 

TN the world of pedagogies, 
He, who draws its revenue, 

Must be quite as many-sided 

As the famous split bamboo. 

Now the virtue of this fish rod, 
We are told by knowing guides, 

Is the true articulation 

Of exact trihedron sides. 

And that all its single sections, 
Each a truncate bamboo split, 

Must be riiitred and assembled 
To a geometric fit. 

As a frustumed hexahedron. 

Firmly bound in silken grip. 

With a fair and faultless taper 
From the reel-seat to the tip. 

Hence its flex to tip the nibble. 

And its strength to land the fish. 

Hence its fame, as higest apex 
Of the angler's fondest wish. 



School and Life 107 



From a view-point pedagogic, 

Thus translate the mataphor : — 

It behooves each knight of learning 
To extend his repertoire, 

Gain experience composite, 
Master multifarious arts, 

Take on poise and conscious power,- 
Be a pedaogue of parts. 

Here's the plain interpretation 

From the angler's point of view :- 

Be not just a common fish pole, 
Be a peerless split bamboo. 

May 26, 1911. 



COME, JOIN OUR CLUB. 

Y\/' F/LL take delight in greeting you. 

And well and rightly treating you. 
We'll please ourselves, in pleasing you, 
In aiding and in easing you. 
In coaching and in currying you. 
And keeping things from worrying you. 
We'll chase away the cranks and knockers. 
And check your troubles in our lockers. 



108 Poems of 



NOT DEATH BUT LIFE. 
In Memory of Mildred Beebe, March '4, 1904. 

T^HE swelling buds in the sunlight 

On the tender branches of spring, 
Are the pledges of plentiful blossoms, 
And of fruit for the harvesting. 

But bitter, belated winter, 

Or the cruel frosts of the night, 

The burning sun, or the tempest, 
Or the stress of a terrible blight, 

Environ the buds with peril. 

And the blossoms of May with death, 
And the downy young fruitage of summer 

With the swirl of a withering breath. 

Alas for the blighted pledges. 

In the buds that can never unfold, 

And the rigors that ravage the weaker 
Of the life which the stronger may hold. 

They wither and drop from the branches, 
As they toss in the wind and the rain, — 

Their feeble young life-currents merging 
In the hardier lives that remain. 



School and Life 109 



Not dead, but more folly are living 

A new life from the same parent source, 

Which nurtures, revives, and enriches 
Other life in its broadening course. 

Not dead, but assuredly living. 

Is the darling whose presence we miss,- 
Her life has joined the Eternal, 

To flow on in perennial bliss. 

Though absent, yet closer, and dearer, 
For our hearts will forever enshrine 

That love which now links us the nearer, 
To the love of the Father divine. 



110 Poems of 



ON THE BIRTH OF A BOY. 

XTLT' E welcome thee sweet little stranger, 
From the glorified gardens above, 
With thy mission from Him of the manger, 
To erect a new altar of love. 

Thy bright natal star gleaming o'er thee. 
Like the shepherds of yore we behold, 

And we hasten straightway to adore thee. 
Bearing tributes of incense and gold. 

For lo ! a new impulse is beating, 
Which shall unto infinity reach ; 

A soul, two eternities meeting. 

Soon to challenge the secrets of each. 

We welcome thee innocent stranger. 
Little prince of illustrious line, — 

God defend thee from evil and danger, 

And His bountiful blessings be thine. 

January 26, 1913. 



School and Life 111 



The following notice of early closing, to 
enable the children to see a St. Patrick's day 
parade, was received with unanimous, and 
unqualified approval by the boys and girls. 



SCHOOL CLOSES AT THREE. 

1^/^ HEN St. Patrick's boys with music 

and noise 
March down the street proudly and free, 

The boys all turn out 

In crowds on the route 
To join in the grand jubliee. 

To honor the day. 

The flag we'll display, 
And flock the procesion to see. 

All give a hurrah ! 

For Erin go Bragh ! 
F'or school will close promptly at three. 



112 Poems of 



WHO TOOK THE SCISSORS? 

A BOX of scissors can't be found, 

Belonging to Miss T , 

Now won't you kindly look around, 

And see where they may be? 
And send at once to Grade One-One, 

With thanks long over-due. 

Just as you rightly should have done, 
The moment you were through. 

The golden rule, when understood, 
Reflects this meaning true, — 

Do not to others as you would 
They'd not do unto you. 



School and Life 113 



COMMENCEMENT 
Rendered by Otis Kelley. 

V^/'E have striven, we have struggled, 

We have won. 
To this stage in learning's highway, 

We have run. 
Branches numerous and varied 

We've pursued, 
Thumb-stained volume after volume 

We've reviewed. 
While the wiliest tricks of logic 

Were involved 
In the hard, skull-cracking problems 

We have solved. 
The three R's at length we've mastered, 

But to find 
They were for the training only 

Of the mind. 
The three modern, golden H's 

Supersede 
That exploded, insufficient, 

Old-time creed. 
And our modern educators 

Now proclaim 
Heart and Hand and Head to strengthen 

Is their aim. 



114 PoeTHS of 



So 'tis strength we've been acquiring, 

Though we thought 
It was knowledge, knowledge only 

That we sought. 
By a subterfuge of nature 

We receive 
Not the object which we struggle 

To achieve, 
But an added gift of power, 

Which reveals 
Far more bright and glorious objects, 

And appeals 
To an inborn thirst for conquest 

On a field, 
Where still higher points of vantage 

Stand revealed. 
As the Alpine climber pauses, 

Seeking rest 
On some jutting mountain's lofty 

Rugged breast, 
Scorning stern and deadly perils 

He must fight. 
Looks undaunted past the topmost 

Snow-tipped height. 
Sees the distant ever beck'ning 

Star of fame 



School and Life 115 



Gleam above him like a golden 

Crown of flame; 
So weVe halted, and would linger 

Briefly now, 
And fresh hopes and aspirations 

Here avow. 
Gaze we on, and out, and upward 

To our star, 
Glistening in vaulted splendor 

High and far. 
Star that prompted our ambition, 

Days gone by, 
Beacon light of past endeavors, 

Pure and high. 
Star that points to honor, station, 

And renown. 
Lighting both the rugged pathway, 

And the crown, — 
And while gazing take we courage 

And be strong, 
Courage, for the upward journey's 

Steep and long; 
And with firm, unconquered purpose, 

So to strive 
That at length among the fittest 

We survive. 



116 Poems of 



THE SCHOOL COLORS 

When the Grammar Schools of Syracuse 
chose their school colors, Putnam School 
chose Blue and White, and Franklin Red and 
White, and Mr. John D. Wilson, the late very 
estimable principal of Putnam, sent to Frank- 
lin the following Greetings to Colors : 



THE BLUE AND WHITE TO THE 
RED AND WHITE 

TpHE Crimson and White ! May it ever be 

right. 
And onward and upward forever its flight. 
The White and the Blue will forever renew 
With pleasure their friendly relations with 

you. 

Putnam. 



School and Life 117 



The return greetings from Franklin: 

THE RED AND THE WHITE TO THE 
WHITE AND THE BLUE 

TX/'ITH pride and delight we fondly unite 
In heartily greeting the '*Blue and the 

White," 
So lovely and true, each heavenly hue, 
And forming, with ours, the ''Red, White and 

Blue." 
Since, in the proud spread of our banner are 

wed 
The blue and the white with the white and the 

red. 
So, truly, may we in harmony be, 
As long as they blend in the Flag of the Free. 

Franklin. 



118 Poems of 



A CRYING NEED 

AN old school-master once 'tis told, 

Had school-house troubles, manifold. 
He had so many children, too. 
He didn't know just what to do. 

Some grades were packed in scanty space, 
Because there was no other place ; 
Atid some but half a day could go. 
Because the school was crowded so. 

Some children ached in knee and thigh, 
A climbing stairs three stories high. 
The basement was a dungeon cell. 
Where twilight and the goblins dwell. 

Where million damps accumulate, 
And bugs and microbes incubate; 
And children, reared in tender care. 
Would shrink in fright, on going there. 

And many, if the truth were known, 
Would not have dared go there alone. 
But, though the tots were frightened so, 
'Twas all the place they had to go. 



School and Life 119 



The dampness from the cellar walls, 
Bulged up the floors of rooms and halls ; 
And often men would nail and clamp, 
And lay the bumps, but not the damp. 

Above such dungeons, dank, unchaste, 
This over-crowded school was placed. 
Some rooms, filled full, and all too small, 
Were made by boarding up the hall. 

No room was well supplied with light; 
No ventilation there, was right; 
No single room could hold them all. 
And there was no assembly hall. 

But, though conditions were so bad, 
'Twas all the school these children had. 
The school was on a noisy street. 
Where clanging trolley cars would meet, 

And popping motorcycles shot 
Their spitting volleys by the spot; 
And honking automobiles spread 
Their din, and perfume as they sped, 

Increased by endless stops and starts, 
And clang and bang of trucks and carts. 
In swarms and droves, in passing by. 
These vehicles would seem to try 



120 Poems of 



To make their most distracting noise, 
To pester those poor girls and boys, 
Who said their lessons, wrote and read. 
Midst hubbub that would wake the dead, 

And grew, by such continuous use 
To Pandemonium let loose. 
They'd daily con their lessons o'er. 
As soldiers sleep while cannons roar. 

Two things condemned the site, 'tis seen, 
Electric cars, and gasoline. 
The school came first, or I could swear 
They never would have built it there. 

These grew to be a menace grim. 
No child was safe in life or limb. 
But still they came, each lass and lad, 
For 'twas the safest school they had. 

The master's heart was sad and sore. 
His thoughts went back to days of yore. 
He saw the multitude of youth, 
Who'd found the school, a fount of truth. 

Then thought of them, maturely grown. 
Rejoiced at their achievements shown. 
Exclaiming, ''These have paid the score. 
The old school's purchase price, and more, 



School and Life 121 

In minds and hearts of richest worthy 
The coin most sought in all the earth ; 
Their broader, higher lives have shown, 
They far out-weigh this brick and stone/' 

While musing thus, at length he slept, 
And pleasing sights before him swept, 
Sights oft in spirit he had seen, 
Like pictures moving on a screen. 

A growing school house meets his eyes, 
Span after span, he sees it rise, 
And take proportions, line by line, 
As if it were his own design. 

With bated breath he strains to see 
What name above the door may be; 
And there in letters carved in stone, 
The name of his old school, his own. 

At last, 'tis done. With halting stride, 
He enters through the portals wide, 
Beholds with pure ecstatic joys, 
Within the rooms, his girls and boys. 

Again, a large assembly hall, 
And there, his thousand children, all. 
And in his dream says o'er and o'er, 
''This sight I've never seen before." 



122 Poems of 



Upon the playground, large and wide, 
He views the merry sports with pride. 
No threatening danger stalks about, 
And quiet reigns, within, without. 

His heart is glad. This school is home, 
A perfect one from base to dome. 
He woke and heard, with troubled sigh, 
A motorcycle crashing by. 

Dreams, though devoid of will, or sense. 
Are oft forerunners of events, 
And so, inspired with courage new, 
He strives to make his dream come true. 



The author desires here to state that, al- 
though his dream has not all come true, a new 
site has already been secured through the 
generosity of the city fathers, large and com- 
modious, on a quiet street, and above all, free 
from danger to the pupils. 



School and Life 123 



One day, at school, I had occasion to use 
the glue, which was kept in my office as 
a distributing point for all the teachers. The 
glue was not to be found. I sent out a search 
for it, but, without result. 

The next morning, I sent around the fol- 
lowing notice. 



GLUE LOST 



T AST week, a young girl, all guileless and 

true, 
Came to the office, and borrowed the glue. 
It's not been returned, though not the girl's 

lack, 
But that of the teacher, who won't send it 

back. 

Now, occasions arise, when I, in my haste. 
Must often make use of this gelatin paste, 
So, dear delinquent, please kindly return 
The absent glue-can, and my gratitude earn. 



124 Poems of 



It developed that a teacher whose Christian 
name was Susan, had sent for the glue several 
days before, and after using it, owing to the 
multiplicity of her duties, had put it away in 
her desk, and had forgotten that she had it, un- 
til the appearance of the above notice. Need- 
less to say, she promptly returned it, with a 
very pretty apology. 

But she was not permitted to let it rest that 
way, for several teachers, overjoyed that they 
were not delinquent, this time, took occasion, 
good-naturedly, to chaflf Miss Susan, about 
the glue, and I joined in the sport with the 
rest. And my only excuse for perpetrating 
the following silly doggerel, lies in the fact, 
that glue rhymes with Sue. 

WHO TOOK THE GLUE? 
An Ode to Sue. 



A/f Y dear Miss Sue : — 

I have a clue, 
Which, if it's true 
Points straight to you. 
As person who 
Purloined my glue. 



School and Life 125 



Directly through 
A young girl who 
Just took your cue, 
And got the glue, 
And then withdrew, 
Away from view. 
As, not a few 
Good pupils do, 
Who haste to sue 
Approval due 
From teacher true 
To pupils who 
Delight to do. 
And rightly, too. 
Whatever you 
Instruct them to. 

By interview 
These facts I drew 
From those who knew, 
And saw the glue. 
And say 'tis true 
'Twas stuck on you. 

This point of view, 
Entirely new. 
If it be true. 



126 Poems of 



Releases you, 
And sticks the glue. 
With shame I view 
The scene anew, 
When peace withdrew, 
And patience flew, 
And in their lieu 
A mannish shrew 
Did then imbue 
My being through. 
Until it slew 
My reason, too. 
With shame review 
The storm that blew 
My office through. 
When first I knew 
There was no glue. 

The noisy stew 
That did ensue 
Gave air the hue 
Of Prussian blue, 
And objects flew. 
And hot words, too, 
And cry and hue 
Against the crew 



School and Life 127 

With hearts untrue 
Who could pursue 
Base motive to 
Abstract my glue. 

Now, I subdue 
The gorge that drew 
The senseless brew 
That well-nigh threw 
Us all askew. 
Hot tears imbrue 
My eyes with dew. 
And I do rue 
So much ado 
About mere glue. 

And now, good Sue, 
I claim, and true, — 
As is your due, — 
I care not who, 
Or Greek, or Jew, 
The claims eschew, — 
No blame unto 
The mooted glue. 
Or suitor who 
Gets stuck on you. 



128 Poems of 



So, patient Sue 
'Tis time you knew, 
That I withdrew 
The blame from you, 
And from the glue. 

Should any do 
Umbrage to you 
With any view 
To pester you, 
Them Til pursue 
E'en through a mew 
Of ormolu, 
Or follow to 
The far purlieu 
Of Kalamazoo, 
Till they shall sue. 
And meekly woo. 
Their peace from you, 

I do renew 
This pledge to you. 
And, leal and true, 
ril keep it, too. 

May it undo 
The pain to you 



School and Life 129 



That did accrue, 
Because we knew 
The lucky glue 
Was stuck on you. 

Now, being through 
The interview, 
Much injured Sue, 
I bid to you 
A fond adieu. 



THE EVOLUTION OF A NIMROD 

TX/^ITH tired brain, and nerves o'erwrought 
He departs from home, as he feels he 
ought, 
From dust, and heat, and clanging bells. 
From the city smokes, and the city smells, 
And hies him to the forest camps. 
With a few good fellows to share his tramps. 
And thanks his stars, he's not in town. 
As he stretches his limbs on balsam down. 



130 Poems of 



New scenes, new life, new aims are sought, 
And a lot of notional whims he's brought. 
No stiff conventions must destroy 
Nor curtail, one mite, his primitive joy. 
And so, the galling garb of pride. 
With the honeyed phrases, are laid aside, 
And lo, a modern man of weight, 
Is inducted into the primal state. 

In wild-wood lore this man is short. 

Though he's very long in the city sort. 

To be a Nimrod is his aim, 

And, by Jingoe, he's out to get some game. 

^'The rest of you may climb a tree. 

But a hunter's life is the life for me." 

He sallies out at peep of sun. 

To besiege the wilderness with his gun. 



Through forest fastnesses he stalks, 

But he flushes only the crows and hawks. 

The partridge chicks, quite plumply grown, 

Take a whirring flight from the danger zone; 

The forest birds all shun his route. 

And the solemn-eyed owl subdues his hoot. 

No sign of birds, as on he goes, 

But the cawing of distant sharp-eyed crows. 



School and Life 131 



The squirrels see the hunter's plot, 

And the bruins, concluding 'tis getting hot, 

Resort discreetly to their lairs, 

For he might take a crack at honest bears. 

The antlered buck retreats pell mell, 

From a windward odor he knows too well. 

All these desert the haunted spot. 

Lest they garnish the hunter's camping pot. 

It seemed the undivided lot 

Of forest creatures had somehow got 

A hurry call to cut and run 

Far away from man and his dreaded gun. 

But two remained most loyal still, 

And they stuck to him with a right good will, — 

The skeeter, with his poison stings. 

And the punkey, a pair of jaws, with wings. 

The first will chase you till you tire, 

But wall chase you harder, when you perspire. 

And, 'tis a fact beyond a doubt. 

Never quits a man, till his blood gives out. 

The punkey, with his winsome ways. 

Can embitter a hunter's life for days. 

With these two pests familiar grown. 

Our unfortunate finds himself alone. 



132 Poems of 



Take this for fact, that, at his best, 
The mosquito is a villainous pest. 
To-day he's born, mid swamps and mud, 
And to-morrow, thirsting for human blood. 
You feel a sting, you wince, and jerk. 
But, already, he's done his bloody work. 
He seeks another likely spot. 
And, at once, he clamly proceeds to squat, 

Inserts his needle-pointed snout. 
And begins the process of drawing out. 
You writhe, you howl, you curse, you swat, 
But the skeeter has found another spot. 
The punkey is a tiny mite, 
But, a monster achievement is his bite. 
In milHons, on your skin they'll play, 
But you think them harmless, and let them 
stay. 

Next day, with swollen hands and throat. 

You'll be hunting for an antidote. 

Our hero is in sorry plight. 

He is far from camp, and 'tis nearly night. 

He's lost his boldness 'mongst the trees, 

With his manly poise, and sense of ease. 

Half- frightened by the forest hush, 

He retakes his way through the underbrush. 



School and Life 133 



His hands are scratched, his clothing torn, 
And he's utterly winded, fagged, and worn. 
He limps along with leaden feet, 
With his body-guard, the mosquito fleet, 
And punkies, like guerilla bands, 
A-circling about his head and his hands, 
He tries to shield his tortured face. 
And by cuffs and slaps, clear a breathing 
space. 

He lashes out both front and rear, 

To expel these pests from the atmosphere. 

He swings his arms about like flails. 

With a bush, he whips, he whirls, and he 

whales. 
And forms, as he gesticulates, 
Many composite curves, and figure eights. 
No posture master, anywhere. 
Could affect the contortions acted there. 

He must not tarry there at bay, 

So, he shoulders his gun, and dodges away. 

He, shortly, knows that he is lost, 

For he comes to a stream he's never crossed. 

He sits him down upon a stump, 

As he tries to swallow a rising lump. 

And thinks of men of whom he's read, 

That were lost like this, and discovered dead. 



134 Poems of 



And with such thoughts upon his soul, 
His exhausted body demands its toll. 
His tired eye-lids gently close, 
And at last, he's free from all his woes. 
His campmates find him by his snore, 
With his late tormentors, hovering o'er. 
They bear him back by light of lamp. 
And the distance is twenty rods to camp. 

His stings and bites are promptly bathed, 
And the painful swellings are soothed and 

swathed. 
His hands, like boxing-gloves are tied, 
And his head is skillfully mummified. 
So, thus, in camp he meekly stays 
For a few most sad, and regretful days. 
But, struggling 'twixt chagrin and doubt, 
He resolves to figure the problem out. 

A friendly native notes his plight, 

And he drops in often, and sets him right 

About the habitat of game. 

And the traits and markings of each, by name, 

How, by stealth, to shadow his prey. 

And, in no event, his presence betray. 

It soon became his mentor's wont, 

To accompany him upon the hunt. 



School and Life 135 



He learned the windings of the trails 

To the densest, distant, wooded dales. 

He studied wind, and sun, and shade, 

So he never more was lost or strayed. 

By use of fragrant oil of tar 

He compelled the skeets to bide afar ; 

Became so skillful with a gun, 

He could hit the target on the run. 

All chaffing has been done away, 

Since he bagged two deer in a single day. 

He, now, can pot the antlered buck. 

And can flush the partridge, and wing the 

duck. 
He stalks the forest, day or night. 
And defies all insects that sting, or bite. 
To be a Nimrod is his aim. 
And, by Jingoe, he surely gets some game. 



136 Poems of 



BATTLE SONG OF PEACE 
(Tune: Marching Through Georgia.) 

T^/'E are young Americans, with loyal hearts 
and true, 

And we love our starry banner, red and white 
and blue, 

'Twas the flag of Washington, the flag of Lin- 
coln, too, 
So let our flag float forever. 

CHORUS 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! its praises we will tell. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! the flag that never fell, 
Should it be insulted, we will fight both long 
and well. 
So let our flag float forever. 

All our land is peopled by the men who braved 

the sea, 
Here to seek their fortunes, and to taste our 

liberty. 
Here to rear their children, 'neath the Banner 

of the Free, 
So let our flag float forever. — Cho. 



School and Life 137 



Now, as true Americans, we'll keep our threats 

and blows, 
Not for one another, but for our dear country's 

foes. 
Side by side we'll battle, for the flag our 

fathers chose. 
So let our flag float forever. — Cho, 

There are inner foes to fight, they're many and 

they're strong. 
We must bravely meet them ever, as we go 

along. 
If we always fight for right, and never for the 

wrong. 
Then will our flag float forever. 

CHORUS 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! We'll shout our battle song, 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! the battle of the strong, 
n we always fight for right and never for the 
wrong, 
Then will our flag float forever. 



138 Poems of 



OLD SCHOOL, GOOD-BYE 

'Y'HERE is a land, I love it well, 

It is peopled by girls and boys. 
And there the fairies always dwell. 

And they watch o'er the children's joys. 

CHORUS 

Old school, good-bye. The dear old bell 
It will ring nevermore for me. 

Good-bye, good-bye. No tongue can tell, 
How I wish I were back with thee. 

No other spot, however grand, 

Though adorned with splendor and grace, 
Can e'er surpass my fairy land, 

Nor its far sweeter charms displace. 

Cho. 
I love its duties to recall, 

How the tasks, I thought were so long, 
I strove to master, one and all, 

And to brighten my work with song. 

Cho. 
I love the love of that dear spot, 

. And shall cling to it till I die, — 
Such love is sweet, and faileth not. 
As the fast flying years go by. — Cho. 



School and Life 139 



MY MOTHER 

jLJER face, Madonna-like, and true, 
Her eyes, a part of heaven's blue. 
Her smile, a radiance from the sky, 
Her voice, an angel lullaby. 
She bore, and reared, and guided me. 
She checked, and cheered, and chided me. 
More kind to me than any other, 
My dear, devoted, patient mother. 

Her willing arms, my cradle bed, 

Her breast a pillow for my head. 

Her every touch, a fond caress, 

Her every wish, my happiness. 

She planned, denied, and saved for me, 

She yearned, and cried, and slaved for me. 

More kind to me than any other. 

My dear, devoted, patient mother. 

She taught my feet the narrow way, 
Attuned my lisping tongue to pray. 
And now, her saintly spirit free. 
From Paradise she beckons me. 
For me her hopes, her fears, her cares, 
Her mother-love, her tears, her prayers 
More kind to me than any other, 
My dear, devoted, patient mother. 

May 14th, 1916. 



140 Poems of 



THE FISHING PARTY 

XJ" O ! for a day on the bounding blue, 

With lungfuls of ozonous air, 
Ho! to be one of the jolly crew, 
Away from all worry, and care. 

Ho ! for a chance once more to be boys, 

With dignity dropped for a day, 
To revel in free and unmuzzled joys. 

And shock all the fish in the bay. 

Ho ! for the pulsing thrill of the strike, 
That tautens the line with a swish. 

The leap of the bass, the tug of the pike. 
And the flop of the landed fish. 

Ho ! for the fight for the biggest catch, 

The zest of the struggle to win, 
The skill to excel, the luck to outmatch, 

And to capture the prize, by a fin. 

Ho ! for the feast on the wooded shore, 

And the clamorous appetite. 
The high heaped plates, and the calls for more, 

And the well-filled sense of delight. 



School and Life 141 



Ho ! for the burn, and the brown, and the tan, 
And the hardships, all sportsmen ignore, 

For these but renew the spirit of man. 
And the waste of his tissues restore. 



May 30, 1916. 



To hold an annual fishing party on Oneida 
Lake has been the custom of the school men 
for several years. It has come to be re- 
garded as one of the recreations that must 
not be omitted. 

I have had the honor to be its chairman 
since its inauguration, and with my last an- 
nouncement I enclosed the foregoing verses, 
as a sort of sequel to it, suggesting in some 
detail, the joys of the approaching outing, 
which joys were touched only inferentially 
in the announcement. 

One of the first responses came from my 
old friend, Mr. Charles S. Gibson of Buffalo. 
There being no signature to the response, 
there was no real evidence to convict him ; 
but I am positive that he wrote it, for it is 



142 Poems of 



so characteristic of the fellow. Besides, 
none of the other fellows would have had the 
audacity to perpetrate a parody on my 
verses. Furthermore, Gibson is the man 
that put sand in my hair, and pebbles in my 
pockets at one time. Nevertheless, I for- 
give him, for he might have been much more 
reprehensible in his practical jokes, if not in 
his response. 



GIBSON'S RESPONSE. 

"L-T O ! for a face as red as a rose, 

From the burn of the summer sun, 
And a half-pound mosquit on the tip of your 
nose, — • 
Swat him ! the son of a gun. 

Ho ! for the sand in your hair that night, 
And the stones in your pockets next year. 

Ho ! for the dignified rooster-fight. 
And Ho ! for the rough-house idea-r. 

Hoe, Hoe, you blasted old sinner. Hoe, Hoe, 
For the '^worms'' that you put on your 
hook ; 



School and Life 143 



For they don't grow on a tree any mo', 
And you can't find the things in a book. 

Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! and Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 

And Ho ! again two or three times, 
But I think that Row! row, row, row, row, 

Ought to show up somewhere in your 
rhymes. 



